


Tighter

by kiyala



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Asphyxiation, M/M, Non-Verbal Safewords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Q wants is Bond's hand around his throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tighter

Q sometimes fantasises about waking up next to Bond. He dreams of it; of his eyes snapping open, of the weight and warmth of somebody else in bed beside him. Of the skin of Bond's hands, rough and familiar as they wrap around his neck and hold him down, stealing every last breath.

Bond has probably done it before; maybe even in this exact scenario. Perhaps he's fucked them to exhaustion, let them settle into bed, sated, content. Q imagines him lying awake, waiting for their breathing to even out, to grow deeper as they fell asleep. Q imagines Bond's hands around their necks, pressing, squeezing, merciful in his efficiency, choking the life out someone. For the mission. For queen and country.

Q wakes up unbearably hard. Bond is in bed beside him, lying on his side facing away, slumbering peacefully.

Bond is a light sleeper. Q knows from experience. Reaching out, Q touches his back, quietly calling his name. Bond is awake in an instant, turning over. He's alert, prepared for any potential reason that Q might have for waking him up in the middle of the night.

Q forestalls Bond, taking his face in both hands and pulling him into a kiss. Bond kisses back, rolling on top of Q. He hums into their kiss when he finds that Q is hard, rolling their hips together. Q gasps, head thrown back against his pillow as he arches into the touch, craving more friction. It isn't long until Bond is hard as well, their movements becoming more frantic.

Q comes first with a quiet moan, reaching between their bodies to stroke Bond to completion soon after. They wipe themselves off and settle back down to sleep.

Bond's hand, disappointingly, remains on Q's hip and doesn't move up to his neck at all.

One of Q’s favourite things about Bond, however, is the fact that he doesn’t need to _ask_ for things. The next evening, when they're undressing each other in bed, he takes Bond’s hands into his own. He guides them to his throat, and doesn’t need to say a single thing.

Bond’s gaze drops to their hands, his lips parting as he exhales. Then he looks back up to Q.

“It might bruise. Are you prepared for that?”

“Of course I am.” Q doesn’t need to say that he hopes that it _does_. It’s cold, now. He can get away with wearing a scarf at work if he needs to.

“You have all of this already thought out, don’t you?” Bond murmurs. “Down to every last detail.”

"Of course I have." Q doesn't mention just how often he's thought about this; how he's wanted it long before he'd ever even _heard of_ Bond.

"How far do you want me to go?"

Q looks him in the eye. "How far are you willing to go?"

Bond's hand is still on Q's throat. It squeezes, just a little, and it's enough to have Q's heart pounding. Bond watches Q's expression closely as he presses harder.

"You know how to control yourself," Q murmurs. He presses down on Bond's hand. "I trust you."

Bond kisses him hard, nipping his lower lip gently as he pulls away.

“Stay right here.” Bond pushes Q down into the mattress, hand still around his throat, and squeezes gently. “Mm?”

Q nods, his eyes widening. He stays put, not even lifting his head, and waits. Soon, Bond is back, pressing something round and heavy into his hand. It’s the paperweight from his desk; a pretty sphere of blown glass that he’d picked up at some market, years ago.

“Hold onto this for me,” Bond instructs. “And the moment you want me to stop, let it drop. I’ll feel it.”

Q nods. “Right.”

Bond bends over to give Q a quick kiss. “Now, don’t move a muscle.”

Q nods just slightly and then lets his head rest back on the mattress. As much as he wants to watch Bond, to see what he's doing, he does as he's told and doesn't move at all.

Bond takes hold of Q's wrists with his free hand. "Hold onto that paperweight, mm?"

Q's fingers tighten around it as Bond moves his hands, past his head, wrists held flat against the mattress.

"One second," Bond murmurs, moving his hand away from Q's throat to grab a pillow. "Up."

Q lifts his hips up as Bond pushes the pillow beneath him, resting under the small of his back.

"Better." Bond brushes his thumb over Q's lower lip before wrapping his fingers around Q's neck again.

Q loves the gentle pressure of Bond's hand; loves the way Bond is kneeling over him, staying in his line of sight. Then, Bond's fingers tighten. It's just a small fraction to begin with, but Q can feel the control, can _see_ it in Bond's eyes. _This_ is what he's wanted for so long. There's a slight curve to Bond's lips, and it makes Q wonder just how blissed out he looks right now.

He wants Bond to press harder, and he can still draw the breath to ask. Bond hadn't told him not to speak, but Q stays silent anyway. He knows that Bond won't keep him waiting for long anyway.

Bond, in his uncanny way, seems to understand because he smiles approvingly. He squeezes Q's wrist before letting go of them. "Keep them there."

Q obeys, looking up at Bond as he trails his free hand down Q's body, across his chest and down further, towards his cock.

The hand around Q's throat keeps his head tilted up and he can't see what Bond is doing. The touch he's expecting to his cock doesn't come, and Bond is shifting, no longer kneeling over Q. He reaches to the bedside table, and while his hand loosens its grip, it doesn't move away from Q's throat.

Q waits, shutting his eyes, and listens. He can hear the distinct sound of Bond opening the bottle of lube. His heartbeat quickens in anticipation and when Bond's fingers tighten around his throat again, it takes all of Q's self-control to keep from spreading his legs.

"Go on, then," Bond murmurs, sounding amused. He touches Q's leg with the back of his hand, nudging it. Q takes the hint, spreading his legs, his knees bent, feet flat on the bed.

"Good boy," Bond whispers, running his thumb over Q's balls before moving lower. He teases Q with just the tip of his index finger at first, barely even pushing in. At the same time, the hand around Q's throat tightens again, enough that Q can feel his head begin to spin. He gasps involuntarily and Bond kisses him for it, stretched out above Q.

"I bet," Bond says conversationally, pushing his finger into Q a little deeper, "this is all you need to come. My fingers in you, around your throat. You don't even need me to touch you, do you?"

" _Ohh_." This is even better than anything Q could have imagined. It goes so far beyond anything that he's fantasised about, with one hand around his cock and the other around his neck.

"Just look at you," Bond continues, pushing another finger into Q. "Dripping all over yourself. You're going to make an utter mess of yourself."

Bond curls his fingers and Q lets out a gasp, his entire body jerking. Humming, Bond does it again, tightening his fingers around Q's throat again.

This time, when Q starts trembling, he can't stop. He desperately wants to move his hands, to takes hold of his cock, to urge Bond to press harder, but he keeps them where they are. His head is spinning, his vision blurring, but he doesn't miss the way Bond's gaze flicks to the paperweight. Q holds onto it as tightly as he can.

Then, Bond's fingers curl in him one last time and Q is coming all over himself. He gasps, unable to draw a breath, and comes just a little harder as his vision begins to go black.

He's only out for a handful of seconds at most. When he comes to, Bond is taking the paperweight out of his hand, placing it on the beside table. Bond smiles at him, placing his hand on Q's cheek. Q turns his head, pressing a kiss to the centre of Bond's palm as a silent _thank you_. Bond kisses his forehead in return.

Q notices then, that Bond is still hard. He's too worn out to get him off properly, but he reaches forward anyway. Bond catches his wrist, holding it still. Q watches him impassively, waiting for him to let go. Instead, Bond kneels on the bed again. He covers Q's hand with his own, wrapping them both around his cock. He jerks off slowly, taking his time, holding Q's gaze. Q can feel every little twitch, the slide of Bond's foreskin, the way the little beads of precome form at the tip and then run down the length.

Bond pants quietly when he's close. His hand strokes faster and now, Q has regained enough energy to slip his hand down the length of Bond's cock, to his balls, massaging gently.

Coming with a loud gasp, Bond props himself up with a hand to keep himself from collapsing onto Q. They kiss, lazy and wet with tongue, sharp with teeth. Bond gets up, returning shortly with a damp towel.

"Was that everything you wanted?" Bond asks, his tone deceptively light as he cleans Q up.

"More," Q replies honestly. His fingers close around Bond's hand, bringing it up to his lips.

Bond smiles once he's finished wiping them both clean and then bends to whisper in Q's ear. "Well, next time, I'm not going to let you come until you're flirting with the very edges of consciousness. Mm?"

"Yes," Q sighs, taking Bond's face in his hands and kissing him. He doesn't know what he's done to deserve a bed mate like Bond, but Q is certainly not complaining. When they settle down to sleep, Bond rests his hand on the side of Q's neck. It's as intimate as any kiss.


End file.
